


It Just Keeps Getting Better

by Zilbea



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Acheivement hunter, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Female!Jack, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Swearing, light alcohol use, mention of rape, stripper!alfredo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilbea/pseuds/Zilbea
Summary: The Fake AH Crew hires a previously independent mercenary known as The Vagabond. He's unpredictable, ruthless, and a risky addition - but he is determined to prove his worth, even if he has a hard time breaking from his past ties...





	1. Celebration For a Heist Successful

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one of a newly started work in progress. There will eventually be some very risky elements in this story, but everything will be tagged and cautioned appropriately. If you should so choose to skip those eventual chapters, a summary of the previous chapter will placed in the notes section of the new chapter.  
> Currently no update schedule, but I plan to work on this piece diligently.  
> Thank's for checking out this piece!
> 
> Song mentioned: Bugatti by Ace Hood [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djE-BLrdDDc)

A bottle of champagne jetted across the room and smashed into the opposite wall, missing Geoff’s nose by mere bubbles. EDM boomed through the penthouse and flashing neon lights illuminated the culprits.

“Watch it, assholes,” Geoff shouted, glaring in the direction of the bottle’s passing. 

A curly haired man grinned back, throwing up his hands in mock innocence. To the left of him, a skinnier man with sandy hair put on a mask of shock. 

“Michael, why would you do that Michael?” His distinct British trill rang above the pulsing music.

Michael swatted the skinnier British man on the back of the head and ran off, cackling.

Geoff shook his head, carefully stepping over the shattered glass and fizzling puddle. A smile crept onto his face. He was too proud of his boys to be anything less than bemused. Geoff found his way into the penthouse kitchen, grabbed two bottles of vodka, and headed outside to the sizable balcony. A breath of fresh air would do him some good indeed. A large swimming pool and deck chairs divided Geoff from the balcony’s railing, encouraging him to walk meticulously as getting tackled into the pool was notably low on his list of party activities. He picked his way around chlorine puddles, placed the two bottles on a nearby table, and eventually reached the railing with a contented sigh.

What a dangerous week this had been. 

Night had fallen upon the vast city but as always, the city’s twinkling lights outshined the stars.

 _We did it_ , Geoff thought. His gaze settled on a distant glowing vacancy sign and he took a deep breath of the warm summer air. _We really fuckin pulled that one off_ \- Geoff’s thoughts fell short as a broad hand clapped him on the back.

“From up here, it looks like we own the whole damn city, huh.”

Turning, Geoff met the jovial gaze of a shorter, stockier, and significantly balder man. He wore a dark purple tank top tucked into darker blue jeans - a combination that very much clashed with the orange chain around his neck. 

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Geoff scoffed lightly, turning his gaze to the skyline once more.

“We could do it, you know,” the bald man continued, scratching his beard. He joined Geoff at the railing, folding his hands over the edge. “With you know who as part of the crew, we could make this whole place ours.” 

“You overestimate him, Jeremy,” Geoff muttered, gesturing at the city below. “A valuable addition, yes, he would be. But he’s so...” Geoff trailed off, glancing over his shoulder as the slim British man burst from the balcony’s sliding glass doors. Michael sprinted after him in hot pursuit. “Unpredictable,” Geoff finished.

Jeremy grimaced in response. He turned, leaning his back against the railing and propping his elbows up on the slim bar. His knuckles were bruised from the week’s heist and he rubbed them thoughtfully, watching the spectacle between the two lads unfold.

“C’mere Gavin, you little shit!” Michael’s voice rang out from across the balcony. A shrill warble erupted from Gavin as he attempted to dodge Michael’s tackle on the pool deck.

Jeremy and Geoff exchanged amused glances.

“I think,” Jeremy started, watching Michael yell in victory as he caught Gavin in a headlock, “that the benefits of offering The Vagabond a position with the Fakes would greatly outweigh the risks.”

Geoff was silent - unsure if he agreed. He mirrored Jeremy’s position on the railing just in time to watch Michael hoist the smaller man up over his shoulder and march to the pool’s edge.

“You’re done, you little bastard,” Michael cackled, slapping Gavin’s upturned rear for good measure. 

“Michael, boy, stop! Don’t -” 

“See ya, sucker,” Michael yelled, throwing Gavin headlong into the pool.

Geoff grinned, pleased the crew was enjoying themselves for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Gavin erupted from the pool, flailing miserably as another familiar, flushed face emerged from the penthouse. She had red hair pulled into two buns atop her head, and she was adorned in a half on, half off Hawaiian shirt. Her gait was unsteady as she passed through the balcony’s doors, but her smile was unmistakable.

“Jack, help me! I’m drowning!” Gavin splashed around dramatically, very much able to touch the bottom of the pool. Jack’s entrance had only given him an outlet for more attention.

Jack giggled, making her way towards the water. She peered over the edge just in time for Gavin to spit water in her face and swim off, laughing. Jack quickly backed away, though still smiling, and ambled towards Geoff and Jeremy to stretch out on a deck chair.

“I had some wine...” Jack slurred to no one in particular, folding her hands behind her head and closing her eyes. 

“Good,” Jeremy grinned, making his way towards the vodka Geoff had placed earlier. “You deserve it.” He popped open one bottle and produced a double shot glass from a pocket. “Just like I deserve this!” Jeremy filled the glass to the brim and slammed it in two gulps. He blinked several times to ward off the sting, then sprinted towards the pool - his target: a waterlogged Brit. He let out a joyous “Hap Hap!” before jumping into the pool on top of Gavin. 

Geoff shook his head in amused disbelief, watching Jeremy and Gavin each grab one of Michael’s legs and drag him off the pool’s edge into the chlorinated depths. Geoff wanted desperately to drink with the crew, but he had sworn himself to sobriety after hitting an all time low several years before. Cheating, even for a celebration like this one, was out of the question. As he watched the lads form a game of ‘King of the Hill’ over an inflatable raft, Geoff couldn’t help but wonder if The Vagabond really _would_ be a logical addition to the crew. The mercenary was indeed the lead player in their recent heist, and simply put, today’s success could really only be attributed to his presence. Geoff fingered the thin chain around his neck, finding the flat metal tag at the end. He had worn the finish off in the center, but still he rubbed away, brow furrowed. Lost in his own thoughts, he weighed the pros and cons of the offer at hand.

 _The Vagabond thrives under odd jobs - contract work without rules or interfering dumbasses. He’d hate to be tied down to this band of idiots, wouldn't he? Group heists, meetings, shared plans… He’s a lone wolf; a fucking psychopath. Not a crew member._ Geoff rubbed his chin, perplexed. In the pool, Jeremy reigned king of the raft (for now), and announced his victory with his fists raised - but Geoff was only half watching. _A killer. A methodical, terrifyingly skilled madman. But today went so well. Perfect, almost. Is he worth a chance?_ Geoff sighed. Maybe, just maybe, with The Vagabond in tow, controlling the vast city didn’t seem so far out of reach. 

Suddenly, the booming music cut out, jolting Geoff back to the present.

“Oi, bring back the jams!” Gavin protested from the pool, clambering up onto the raft both Jeremy and Michael now sat upon. He had somehow shed his waterlogged jeans and golden dress shirt, and his boxers were just barely hanging on to his slender hips.

Geoff averted his eyes as to not view any more British asscrack and frowned at his phone. Why did the music stop? Did it die? No... Lose connection?

A notification popped up on his phone.

***Dolby Surround***

  * ****New device found:** ** _The Sauce_****



**Accept device?**

**Yes No**

Geoff smirked, and tapped ‘Yes.’ _Here we go_ , he thought, peering across the balcony.

The first few bars of _Bugatti_ by Ace Hood blasted over the balcony speakers. 

“Oh shit,” Michael said, grinning. He nudged Jeremy and Gavin as they floated across the pool. “Boys, I think we’ve got a show coming.”

As if on cue, two men of similar height clad in custom black suits strode through the balcony’s sliding doors. Each wore dark glasses despite the lack of sun, and the pool’s lights twinkled in the shine spots of classy black shoes. 

“Hellooooooo twins!” Jeremy called, giving a shrill wolf whistle in appreciation. Michael and Gavin whooped their support.

The dapper pair assembled in a staggered position at the pool’s edge. The man in front sported a black chain necklace with clear lettering spelling ‘Fredo,’ while the man in back wore a similar chain reading ‘Trev.’ 

“Lads, Gents, Jack,” Alfredo began, slowly unbuttoning his suit coat as the song’s intro came to a close, “this party just gettin’ started.” The beat dropped, and Alfredo flung his arms wide, sending the jacket’s sides flying outward.

Trevor moved forward and slipped the coat off Alfredo’s arms, tossing it aside before opening the under-vest with a dramatic flair. 

The onlooking crew went wild, rousing Jack from her wine-induced nap. She sat up quickly, not wanting to miss the show. “I always forget about Fredo’s side job,” Jack whispered to Geoff as Trevor’s hands worked open the top buttons of Alfredo’s dress shirt. 

“Can you believe people pay top dollar for these schmucks?” Geoff chimed back, though admittedly, not looking away from the scene.

Alfredo moved his hips to the beat, arms slightly raised, giving Trevor - now flush against Alfredo’s back - better access to strip him. 

Trevor moved farther down Alfredo’s shirt, exposing more and more of his muscular figure. Nearing the bottom of the shirt, Trevor snaked his fingers under the hem and caressed Alfredo’s lower belly. Then, pulling the dress shirt off Alfredo’s body entirely, Trevor glided his hands up and down the length of the darker man’s torso, lingering on his chest and hipline. 

Alfredo arched into Trevor’s touch as the taller man’s hand wandered lower, settling on the clasp of Alfredo’s dress pants. With his other hand, Trevor pulled on Alfredo’s necklace from behind, forcing the shorter man’s head backwards. 

Alfredo’s mouth fell open as his head rolled back, eyes fluttering shut. Trevor pulled the chain tighter around Alfredo’s neck, smirking at the sight.

Gavin gave a low whistle. “Good thing they’re not actually twins,” he muttered to Jeremy. “Otherwise their customers would have some serious questions.”

“I already have some serious questions,” Jeremy chuckled, paddling the trio and inflatable raft over to the bottle of vodka on the pool’s edge. “Shots anyone?” 

Michael and Gavin nodded vigorously.

The pair continued their performance as the three lads slammed their drinks. Trevor slowly unclasped Alfredo’s pants, other grip firm around the black chain. He worked the zipper down with one hand, and Alfredo emphasized the action with a slow rhythmic thrust of his hips.

“They manage to be pornographic and the son of a bitch isn’t even naked,” Michael mused, throat tight from the alcohol. His feet dangled in the pool and he felt on top of the world.

Gavin nearly coughed up his shot as Trevor slid Alfredo’s pants down over his thighs. “Should we be watching this?” Gavin hid his eyes with a hand and peaked through his fingers.

Trevor grinned at Gavin’s comment, crouching as he lowered Alfredo’s slacks further. He locked eyes with Gavin and rose tantalizingly slow, dragging his hands up Alfredo’s toned legs. Gavin flushed bright red.

Alfredo stepped out of his pants, smiling slyly. He wore only his sunglasses, black boxer briefs and black chain. “Well?” He spread his arms expectantly at his small audience, grinning wide. The song rattled on in the background

“I feel like a sinner,” Geoff said, fanning himself. “I’m just glad you two strippers didn’t showcase the explicit version.” 

Alfredo held up a finger and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. “Correction Geoffrey; I’m the stripper, Trevor’s the strippee.” 

“I don’t give a shit, you’re a collective act.”

“That was just a sample of next week’s show,” Trevor said, laughing as he began shedding his own clothes. “Feel blessed to have previewed...” Trevor gestured grandly at Alfredo, “The Sauce!” 

Alfredo, now out of performance mode, was a bashful mess of giggles. He hopped into the pool and made his way towards the raft of lads, intent on finishing the dwindling vodka.

Trevor soon followed Alfredo into the water, heckling Michael to take a shot with him. Suddenly feeling incredibly weary, Geoff settled next to Jack on her pool chair. His smile was fading, and Jack could almost feel the stress radiating off the older man.

“Not in a party mood?” Jack inquired, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the chair. She and Geoff sat side by side, watching the other crew members form a game of chicken.

“Just thinking,” Geoff muttered, frowning at his hands.

“Well, do it,” Jack blurted, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She giggled, and started again. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, just do it.” Her words strung together, muddied by alcohol, but Geoff didn’t mind.

“What if he turns on us, huh?” Geoff clenched his hands, refusing to look up.

Jack tilted her head in confusion.

"The Vagabond. If we let him into our crew, who's to say he won't pick us off one by one?"

Jack put an arm around Geoff and leaned in close, pausing for dramatic effect. “We outnumber him. Simple.” She backed away, smiling proudly as if she had just recited a prophecy.

Geoff scoffed. “Even more incentive for the madman -”

“Geeooofffff,” Jack’s voice rose uncharacteristically high and she placed an outstretched palm on his chest. “You know deep down, deep deep down,” she poked Geoff’s sternum hard, “that we need someone like him!” Grabbing Geoff’s chin, she continued. “Fuckin,’ look at what we did this week! Are you impressed? I know you are. At least, I know I am.” She released her hold and patted Geoff on the thigh. “We could do anything because of him, you gotta have faith!”

Geoff smiled briefly and swatted Jack’s hands away. Drunk pep talks were Jack’s specialty, though she seemed to be running out of new material.

A roar echoed across the pool. Geoff looked up just in time to see Michael and Jeremy, on the shoulders of Gavin and Alfredo respectively, locking arms. Both short tempered lads wore masks of determination as they fought to topple the other. Michael’s strong thighs hooked around Gavin’s neck, and the poor Brit looked like a chew toy in a wolf’s mouth as he struggled to keep Michael balanced. 

Alfredo’s broader shoulders and wider frame gave Jeremy just the leverage he needed to suplex Michael into the water, screaming, “I! Am! Monster Truck!” 

A colossal splash, bird noises, and laughter all around.

“That’s three points for team: The Overseers!” Trevor announced, taking another swig straight from the bottle. “Team Nice Dynamite, maybe you two should swap positions. Yall getting top heavy over there.”

Michael flicked water at Trevor, grinning. “Fuck you, everyone knows Gavin can’t be anything but a bottom.”

Gavin's jaw dropped in mock protest. “Michael, what do you mean Michael?” He tugged on a golden earring nestled into his earlobe. “I could do it!”

“ _Could_ ,” Alfredo grinned, “but won’t.”

The night ticked on, and the pool shenanigans eventually came to a close - once Gavin and Alfredo started complaining about their pool-wrinkles, it was all over.

The crew eventually settled in deck chairs circling around a corner of the balcony, having since changed from their soggy clothing. Beer cans littered the middle of the circle, and everyone seemed to be out-shouting each other.

“You dumb idiot prick!” Gavin pointed a finger at Jeremy from across the circle. “You’re the one who sent that mugger after me?”

Jeremy cackled and high-fived Jack. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Gav.”

Gavin flipped him the bird.

Spirits were high; the crew’s recent success fueling their late-night energy. Michael, halfway through his fifth beer, energetically recounted the week’s series of heists, noting what seemed to work well and what failed miserably. He sheepishly praised Alfredo’s sharp-shooting, as he was a fantastic shot himself, and congratulated Gavin’s hacking success. Gavin ate up the compliments while Alfredo ducked his head - mumbling that everyone’s _collective_ efforts allowed the operation to run so smoothly. 

“I want to make a toast,” Geoff announced a few minutes later, silencing a minor dispute about the practicality of Jeremy’s custom purple and orange vehicles.

“You wanna make toast?” Alfredo hiccuped a laugh, leaning dangerously far off his chair, “wack dude, I could go for some toast right now.”

“A. Toast,” Geoff closed his eyes briefly, summoning all of his remaining patience. He raised a diet coke in the air, receiving laughs from the crew. Rolling his eyes, Geoff continued. “I know, assholes, I know. Put your drinks up before I shoot you all.” 

Everyone complied, awaiting Geoff’s words. 

Geoff cleared his throat. “We fucking, kicked ass. Here’s to all you guys sticking your necks out day after day for our... quest... for fame and glory. Here’s to-” he faltered as a dark shape dropped from the roof onto the far corner of the patio deck. Geoff’s hand flew to the pistol tucked in his pants, and the rest of the crew jolted to shaky action. Gavin and Michael flattened themselves into a crouch behind a deck chair, and Jeremy tripped his way to Geoff’s side with his fists balled. Alfredo had also pulled out his gun, instinctively flattening his back against Trevor’s. The Twins sidestepped to cover Jack, as her current response time was far less than superior.

“Show yourself, cunt!” Jeremy fumed at Geoff’s side, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. His head was spinning, but he doubted it would affect his punching abilities.

“Uh, okay,” an uncomfortable voice rang out from the dark corner, “but don’t... shoot me, or whatever. Technically it’s my party too.”

The stranger’s words did nothing to ease the crew, and Michael cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

The man emerged from the shadows cautiously. He raised one hand as if to calm the anxious crew, and other hand hung by his side, gripping something black. His dark hair was pulled back into a low knot, and he wore a dark blue t-shirt tucked into black jeans.

“Hi,” the man said, blue eyes twinkling in the balcony’s lights. He slowly stepped towards the Fakes. 

“And just who the fuck are you,” Geoff spat, leveling his pistol with the man’s chest. The tension in the air was palpable.

The stranger slowly raised the hand at his side, drawing the black object near his face. The dark skull mask looked much less intimidating unoccupied, but it served its purpose nonetheless.

“The Vagabond,” Jack laughed from behind The Twins. “He’s just a normal dude under that mask.”


	2. Fire and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, concluding the intro of this work.  
> No real warnings apply to this chapter.  
> More to come soon!

The Vagabond grimaced at Jack’s remark, visibly uncomfortable. “Yep... That’s, ah, that’s me.”

No one moved.

The man sank slowly, placing his mask on the ground. “Look, can we just put the guns down? Geoff asked me to come.” He carefully pulled two knives out of his waistband, placing them next to the mask. He rose with his hands up, frowning at the tense crew before him. 

“Geoff?” Gavin questioned from behind the chair, mouth dry for reasons he couldn’t yet figure. 

Geoff stared at The Vagabond coolly, unnerved by how unrecognizable the mercenary was without his guise. He held his gun steady. “You’ve got about 5 minutes to convince me of your identity. If you give me the police report of today’s events, I’m sending this bullet straight through your fucking skull.” 

Jeremy cracked his neck in agreement.

The Vagabond frowned deeper, lowering his hands. “I’m not a cop-”

“Sure stalling like one, bitch,” Michael said, climbing to his feet and crossing his arms. 

The mercenary sighed, wishing he had just stayed home for the night. His heart raced, racking his brain for bits of recent info only he or parts of the crew knew. He rubbed his hands together, staring at the hostile crew. Behind-the-scenes events from the past two weeks would have to do. “Okay,” he began, “The Brit jammed the stronghold’s servers with a line of broken code lifted from Brazzers.” Gavin’s slight smirk gave him slight encouragement, but unfortunately, he still peered down the barrels of two guns. The Vagabond tried again. “Um, the short one saved Geoff’s ass right before the alarms rang. He managed to tie the guard’s shoelaces together... giving Geoff clear advantage for that head-shot.” 

Geoff looked taken aback, side eyeing Jeremy. 

Ryan pointed at the angry brunette. “Marshall, is it? Mark?” 

Michael scoffed. “It’s Michael, dumbass.”

The Vagabond nodded, eyebrows raising excitedly. “Michael took a crash course in getaway driving off the black market about two weeks ago - that’s the only reason he was able to get us through those road-spikes all while avoiding traffic  _ and _ keeping the van from careening into the goddamn river.” The mercenary picked up speed when Michael rolled his eyes guiltily. “...Trev,” he said, squinting at Trevor’s necklace, “had the idea to swing by the Seven-Eleven for slurpees this morning, because in his words, he couldn’t heist when he was ‘feeling dusky.’ His twin, or... whatever, used his empty cup for target practice on the brick wall behind the Seven-Eleven. Split the bullet, but still complained he was ‘out of practice.’ Jack, right? Was insistent on scoping out the security complex at 2 this morning. She pulled up on a moped covered in fanny packs full of explosives because she thought it was ‘incredibly sexy of her’” 

Deafening silence followed, but still the guns remained. 

The Vagabond threw his hands up in exasperation. “My name is Ryan Haywood and I planned this whole goddamn thing.”

Geoff grinned and lowered his gun, evidently satisfied with The Vagabond’s monologue. Following Geoff’s lead, the other Fakes relaxed. 

“Ryan, eh?” Gavin wrinkled his nose, finally standing up by Michael’s side. “Gonna be honest, I didn’t peg you as a suburban-bloke.”

Ryan shrugged, still uncomfortably aware of the 1 v 6 arrangement.

“Did you really jam the servers with  _ porn _ ,” Michael laughed, swatting Gavin in amusement.

“Lots of criticism from the _ criminal _ who paid for  _ driving _ lessons,” Gavin retorted, heading across the pool deck and into the penthouse. His exit spurred several others to follow, and soon, everyone made their way inside. Their overall energy was dwindling; pulling another late night after a week of heists appealed to no one, and the alcohol was settling heavy in their systems. 

Ryan lagged behind as everyone filtered through the large door. He felt ridiculously out of place. Was he supposed to stay here for the night? When was the right time to leave, if not? Ryan sighed. Everyone seemed to be so... close. His stomach turned as he passed through the sliding door. Edgy as it was, Ryan didn’t really have  _ friends _ . Acquaintances, maybe. Contracts, definitely. Associates? Rarely. He scratched his chin, watching the crew scatter around the main room, and wondered what the remainder of the night would bring. Sure, Geoff had invited him to celebrate the week’s success, but Ryan was miserably late. He wasn’t the easiest to get along with either, so what the hell was he supposed to do here? He had only officially met the crew this morning despite maintaining the week’s operations from afar, and he barely even remembered anyone’s names.

Ryan clenched a fist, digging his nails into his palm in attempt to draw himself back to present. 

Most of the crew had ended up on the large L shaped couch. Geoff stood behind, leaning forward onto the back, while Jeremy and Trevor sprawled across the rightmost cushions. Alfredo and Michael had settled to the left and both of them called dibs on their Mario Party characters. Jack laid across a long futon, apparently unbothered by the several pairs of feet kicked up on her perch.

Keeping close to the wall, Ryan settled on a bar stool facing the couch nearby. He figured the distance would allow him to appear as both interested and uninterested in the crew’s antics. He looked at his hands, frowning.  _ Why ask me here just to ignore me? _ A pit furrowed in his stomach. Was this a prank? Some half-assed lesson in patience? He rolled his shoulders, rising off the stool. Time to sneak out.

“Where are you off to, love?”

Ryan jolted at the voice behind him, cursing himself for not being more alert. Was it just his imagination, or did the Brit actually not make a single noise as he moved?

“Tense,” Gavin laughed, folding his arms and leaning his back against the wall. “What are you playing at, merc?” 

Ryan glared at the man, sitting down again. The Brit had settled uncomfortably close to Ryan’s stool, and Ryan assumed it was some sort of power-move. “I was invited here by Geoff,” Ryan repeated, “I’m not... playing at.... anything.”

Gavin scoffed. “Sure. Big name like you finally getting inside the Fakes headquarters - I really believe you’re not about to kill us all and rob us blind.”

Ryan regarded the cocky man dryly. The Brit was quite tan - his skin accentuated by fluffy, sandy hair - and a generous amount of stubble lined his jaw. Gold aviators tucked into a belt loop of tight dark jeans, and he wore a plain white, loosely fitting t-shirt. the man rested his head against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, seemingly uninterested in the conversation he had started.

At a loss for words, Ryan turned back to the couch. He pulled out his phone and swiped at the home screen idly, irritatingly aware of the Brit looking over his shoulder.

“Bit rude, don’t you think Ryan?” 

Ryan gritted his teeth, shutting off his phone. “Do you want something?” He faced the Brit once more, irritation prickling the back of his throat.

The man examined his nails. “Name’s Gavin. I noticed you didn’t remember earlier, even though I told you 5 times today.”

Ryan frowned at Gavin, trying to remember if the Brit had actually even said a word to him during today's final heist. “Um. Sorry, I don’t usually have other people to keep track of in my line of work."

Gavin finally faced the Vagabond, expressionless. “Perfectly why I think it’s a bloody damn bad idea.” His eyes raked over Ryan, and the pair were silent for a little too long. Finally finding something to complain about, Gavin pointed to Ryan’s shoulder. “You’ve a stray hair on your shirt-”

“You think  _ what _ is a bad idea,” Ryan spat, rapidly growing tired of the younger man.

Gavin smiled devilishly. “Oh, you don’t know.” He flicked the dark hair off Ryan’s shoulder, locking eyes with the older man. Gavin opened his mouth but quickly faltered. A fire burned in Ryan's blue eyes, and Gavin found himself unable to look away. It was an icy cold, dangerous stare unlike anything Gavin had ever seen. The Brit’s grin faded as he stared at the other man, stomach flipping. His throat was tight and it deepened his usual airy tone. “Geoff wants you in the crew,” Gavin said. He narrowed his eyes at Ryan, searching for a reaction.  _ Fire within Ice _ , Gavin thought nervously. Seeing no change in Ryan's gaze, Gavin turned on his heel and stalked off, plopping between Michael and Alfredo on the couch.

Ryan’s brow knitted as he watched Gavin leave. He felt as if he had just stepped off a roller coaster. He let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. The man's mischievous green eyes lingered in his mind. What was that all about? Feeling more discomfort than when two guns were pointed at his chest, Ryan let out a long breath. Joining the Fakes? His whole life - the culmination of all his efforts towards notoriety - could just be upended in one night. Everything he had grown to stand for. His way of living. Ryan cracked his knuckles. If all of the crew was as pleasant as Gavin, there was absolutely no way he was accepting the offer - whenever it came.

“Hey, Vagabond,” Geoff’s voice called out, “You gonna just sulk over there all night?”

Ryan stood, grimacing. He evidently hadn’t faded into the background like he’d hoped. He walked forward and joined Geoff behind the couch.

On the screen, Michael was winning.

“Glad you decided to show,” Geoff greeted, extending his hand. 

Ryan shook the older man’s hand, making note of his extravagant tattoos crawling up and down his arms. “You know I’m a mercenary of sorts,” Ryan started. “I’m not... This isn’t my scene.” He gestured around the penthouse.

“So you know why I asked you here,” Geoff concluded, frowning slightly. He stared at Ryan expectantly, as the lads erupted into a round of ‘fuck you’s. 

Michael had just earned another star. 

“Well?” Geoff continued. “We could really benefit from your talents.” 

Ryan scoffed, knowing he was playing a dangerous game. Impulsively, fueled by anxiety and confusion from Gavin's harassment, he made up his mind. “So you just want to use me. Contract me then, like all the others.” He shrugged. “I can work for you without being in your boy band.”

The others on the couch had fallen quiet, only half-playing the game as the Vagabond confronted their boss.

“That’s not the point,” Geoff said, looking taken aback. “We want you in the Crew. Your performance this week resulted in a success way better than you, or we, could have executed exclusively.” He spread his hands, staring intently at Ryan. “You could have that - always - and more.. Lower operational risks when you have trustworthy backup, higher reward knowing you’re guaranteed your share. Doesn’t that sound appealing?”

Ryan peered around. Every member of the crew was watching him in anticipation. They looked hungry, as if they could pounce at any minute. Ryan met Gavin’s furious stare. Yeah, 'trustworthy'. Ryan sighed. He was about to piss off a very powerful man. Regarding Geoff calmly, he licked his lips. “No.” 

The Vagabond turned his back on the crew and walked back out onto the balcony. Collecting his knives and mask, he found his way back to the the corner he had dropped down into only a short time ago. His neck prickled and he knew full well that 6 pairs of eyes were fixed on him in shock. Ryan scaled the wall. Crouching on the roof of the penthouse, he wondered if he just made a very grave mistake.

  
  



	3. With the Sun, Changes Arise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's morning, Ryan's remainder of the night post-heist party. Ryan's day is just ending as Gavin's begins - they really couldn't be much more different. The issue still stands: what of The Vagabond?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for several things:  
> \- mild gore/murder  
> \- mention of rape (justice)  
> \- Masturbation

The sun peeked over the Los Santos skyline - its soft rays promising a warm day. Gavin rolled over in bed, groggily opening his eyes directly into the morning sunlight. He held his hands in front of his face with a wince and slid out of bed. His foot hit something soft - a startled grunt caused Gavin to look down. Michael was sprawled out on the floor, sleepily holding his stomach and frowning.

Gavin paused, whispering “Sorry, boy.” He wasn’t entirely sure when Michael had decided to crash in his room last night. He wondered if he had missed anything else significant; It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Gavin carefully stepped around Michael and padded down the wide hall past a few other crew bedrooms. The penthouse was extravagantly decorated. Large floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated the main room with soft morning light, and as Gavin wandered through the living room, he found himself appreciating the lofted ceiling and open floor plan. 

Never good to start a morning with claustrophobia. 

Entering the kitchen, Gavin made a beeline for the coffee maker. A sharp pain worked its way under his shoulder as he scooped grounds into the filter, and Gavin suddenly realized how tense he was. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The Vagabond had denied Geoff’s offer last night, so why was he still so anxious? He sighed, checking his watch.

6:57 am.

Gavin grimaced. He filled the carafe with water and dumped it into the machine. The coffee maker chugged slowly and Gavin stared at his bare feet. A long day lay ahead of him, and Gavin had really wanted to wake up feeling motivated and ambitious. Today was a perfect day for gathering insights for a future heist - but his head pounded, his back ached, and it seemed like his legs were cast from lead. Gavin wasn’t sure if the knots in his stomach outsized the knots in his shoulders. Running a hand through his hair, he mulled over the recent past. His eyes unfocused. 

He and Geoff had gotten into a pretty nasty spat a several weeks ago, when Geoff attempted to pass the prospect of hiring The Vagabond by him. Tensions were already high that night; The Fakes had failed a small-scale money grab only hours before. Impatient and agitated, Gavin had said no to Geoff’s proposal immediately, cutting Geoff off and stalking away. Geoff had stormed after the Brit and spun him around. Both parties became livid. Gavin had given Geoff serious lip; Geoff had slapped him across the face.

Gavin touched his left cheek gingerly as he recalled that night. Guilt washed over the Brit. 

Gavin had sunk to the ground after Geoff hit him - stunned into silence - and Geoff’s furious subsequent words had rang out loud and clear.

_ “Doubt me if you want, but know that doubts make traitors. Your fear in trusting my judgment is and will continue to be a detriment to the whole crew. For someone who carries himself like a god damned king, you sure are a fucking coward.”  _

Sure, there was no blood, and sure, maybe it didn’t leave a mark for more than a day, but the slap had stung Gavin to his core. Gavin had always looked up to Geoff - the older man had practically raised him. 

That night, pride and trust shattered, The Golden Boy cried for the first time in 15 years.

Geoff had approached him guiltily a day later. In his apology, Geoff admitted to being conflicted about The Vagabond’s offer, but explained that Gavin’s stubborn protest had fueled him to argue in favor of the Merc. Under Gavin’s wary eye, Geoff had then sworn to never again lay a hand on a member of the crew.

The coffee maker beeped loudly, and Gavin jumped. 

_ Bloody nerves. _

The Brit shook his hands and filled his mug. The steam was a warm welcome and he breathed deeply. Gavin carefully balanced his coffee as he walked back to the living room, and curled up in an armchair bathed by the morning sun. He closed his eyes and sipped at the drink; almost enjoying the slight burn on his tongue. 

_ Forget about it all, dammit, _ Gavin thought. _ It’s come and gone. Can’t focus on today if your head is up the past’s ass.  _

A heavy hand ruffled his hair. Startled, Gavin opened his eyes to see Michael heading for the kitchen.

“Tired Gav?” Michael said, opening the fridge aimlessly. 

“A bit, but I just couldn’t fall back asleep - got a laundry list of things to do today.” 

Michael nodded and grabbed a mug. “You mind?” He pointed at the carafe full of coffee.

Gavin waved his hand in permission and turned back towards the large window, closing his eyes once more. A twinge started in his stomach but he forced it down, focusing on the warm sun on his cheeks. 

“They don’t call you the Golden Boy for nothing,” Michael chuckled, settling into a chair across Gavin’s. “You look like Midas just had his way with you.” He stuck his hand upwards into the sunlight, casting a hand-shaped shadow across Gavin’s face. 

“Michael, give me my sun back, Michael,” Gavin complained, brow furrowing over his closed eyes.

Michael grinned, dropping his hand. “ _ Your _ sun - what are you, the Solar Queen?” He chuckled and gazed at Gavin expectantly, but his smile faded after several moments of silence from the Brit. “You seem on edge. What’s up?”

Gavin groaned, curling his legs tighter to his chest. He rolled his head towards Michael and shielded his face with one hand. Squinting, Gavin made out Michael’s glowing head of curls backlit from the window. He took a drink of coffee to avoid conversation.

“The Vagabond,” Michael pressed. He fell back into the armchair, holding his mug low. “He bothers all of us, Gav. You’re not the only one.”

“Right. Bloody seems like it,” Gavin muttered. He settled his feet on the ground and leaned forward towards Michael. “The bloke helps with one heist and suddenly everyone wants to suck him off.” He cupped his mug with both hands. “Feels like I’m the only Fake who knows he’s a damn contract killer.”

Michael grimaced, moving to mirror Gavin’s position. “We’re all familiar with his history, man. Hell, all of Los Santos knows that name.” He shrugged. “Scary as he is, it’s probably a good idea to have him as an ally.”

Gavin glared at Michael. “Not just an ally, a bloody member of the crew. You want that unhinged sack of  _ pap _ living - _ sleeping _ in our headquarters?”

Michael shrugged again.

“He’ll have to do a damn lot to prove himself to us,” Gavin continued. “When we picked up ‘Fredy and Trev they had no affiliations with other gangs or contracts. A bilingual sharpshooter and a silver-tongued salesman - that’s all. They had no big name or fancy mask... no track record of blatant treachery-”

“His contracts are independent-”

“You would really trust a man who happily slits the throat of a bloke who contracted him just the night before? All for a little extra cash from someone he might be told to off tomorrow? When the time comes, you’re gonna trust  _ that _ man with your  _ life _ ?”

“I’m not defending his lifestyle, Gav. Chill.” Michael took a drink of his coffee. “Like I said, I don’t like him either. I just know that his involvement with this past heist gave us that little edge we needed to pull it off.”

Gavin regarded Michael coolly. “Tell me just what he did for us that we couldn’t do on our own.”

Michael rubbed his chin with a hand. “He was in communication with us for two weeks before yesterday. Geoff contracted him to get information from The Rooks because no one - not even us until last night - knew what he looked like without all the... makeup and silicon. I think The Vagabond was excited by what he learned, and started throwing suggestions at Geoff - ways to enter and swarm The Rooks, where to set up on-site cameras and gather more routine-based information... what could be  _ earned _ from the raid...” Michael raised his eyebrows at Gavin. “For just a ‘contract killer,’ he sure knew a lot about planning for a heist.”

Gavin scoffed. “We could have gotten any of that info ourselves. Not like we don’t do that every week.” 

“But,” Michael interjected, “Could we have spoken directly with the leader of the Rooks? Had goddamned  _ dinner _ with him?” Michael laughed. “Yeah his methods are questionable, but the man knows how to do his fucking job. Gavin, he got us all of that tech. He made a detailed map of The Rooks headquarters and continued to fill us in on their every move for two whole weeks. That was far beyond his contracted pay-grade if you ask me. Geoff was so impressed with his diligence that he asked The Vagabond to partake in the actual heist with us just a few days ago. He didn’t have to help us, Gavin.”

Gavin twisted one of his golden earrings. Everything Michael had said was true, but it didn’t ease Gavin’s discomfort. “Michael what if, tomorrow, some jack-off contracted him to kill you or Geoff or any of the crew?” Gavin pulled his legs back onto the armchair. “He has no obligations, no dedication, nothing preventing him from offing any one of us when money calls.”

Michael held up a hand as if to calm the Brit. “Again, I’m not disagreeing with you. I just think giving him a chance could be a worthwhile risk. We did only meet him - as Ryan, not The Vagabond - just yesterday. He kind of seems just like... a normal dude.” He grinned at Gavin. “Besides, you really think Geoff would let him keep himself in the mercenary scene? The Vagabond is used to contracts, but crew contracts work just slightly different.”

“He declined, Michael,” Gavin said, steel creeping into his voice. “It’s one and done either way.” His green eyes fixed into Michael’s brown ones. No one seemed to be as wary as Gavin, and it pissed him off. 

Michael threw up a hand in surrender. He stood and took a long sip from his mug. 

Gavin followed suit. He had work to do - his office was calling. Gavin flicked a drop of coffee at Michael, smiling slightly as he turned away. He nodded contently upon hearing Michael mutter a lighthearted “bastard,” under his breath. Gavin continued across the large living room and entered the main hallway, only to be greeted by the sight of a groggy looking Jeremy wearing a baggy purple T shirt and bright orange boxers. 

“Little J!” Gavin hollered, setting down his coffee before charging the half-awake man.

Jeremy’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. He dropped low into a crouch with his arms spread apart, bracing himself for impact. Gavin barreled into him, grabbing Jeremy’s shoulders and trying his best to shove the stronger man. Grinning, Jeremy held his ground. Gavin leaned his whole body’s weight into Jeremy, but his own feet were the only things budging.

“Mornin Gav,” Jeremy chuckled, separating himself from the smaller man. He took a precautionary step back.

“One day I’ll win,” Gavin promised, panting. He backtracked to his coffee and gave Jeremy one final, halfhearted shove before continuing down the hall to his office.

***

Ryan brought the knife to his mask’s lips thoughtfully. “Now tell me, why would a man in your position,” Ryan gestured at the man’s rope bindings, “Still be making excuses for yourself?” The Vagabond circled behind the farmhand’s chair, pressing the flat of the blade against his heaving windpipe. Ryan crouched and put his lips near the man’s ear. “No one is around to hear you.”

The farmhand gulped, straining at his bonds. A drop of sweat fell from his lip.

“Oh,” Ryan said, feigning surprise, “You’ve heard that one before, haven’t you?” 

The man coughed a sob. “Please, don’t do this-”

“It’s been a great displeasure knowing you,” Ryan continued as if the man had said nothing. He straightened and placed a gloved hand on the man’s shoulder, gripping hard. He rotated the knife slowly upwards against the man’s neck.

The farmhand jerked about, desperately trying to crane his head away from the blade. “I didn’t mean to - please, believe me, it was an accident!” 

Ryan’s strong hand held the man in place. Calmly, he crouched again, peering around the chair to look the man head on. His bright blue eyes twinkled from the shadows of his mask, meeting the wildly panicked brown of the farmhand. Ryan’s voice was husky. “Murder is hardly ever an  _ accident _ .” With a quick flick of his wrist, he slit the man’s throat. “And rape is  _ never _ unintentional.” 

The Vagabond rose from the man’s bleeding body, wiping the knife on his jeans. He walked to the back of the farmhouse’s cellar and lifted the mask off his face - grateful for a breath of fresh air - and tucked it into his jacket. It’s not often his contracts feel like justice, but Ryan was more than happy to murder a serial rapist. Throwing one last disgusted glance at the gurgling corpse of the disgraced farmhand, he ascended the stairs. Ryan checked his watch before pushing through the door.

4:15 am. 

He breathed in the early morning air. That was nearly his personal record. Thankfully, it was still dark enough outside to give Ryan decent enough cover as he made his way through the field. He was nearing the awakening city, and he pressed a small gadget in his ear. “It’s done.” His voice was low.

Several minutes of silence preceded a crackling answer. “Your package awaits you.”

Reaching the outskirts of Los Santos, Ryan slipped through the backdoor of an unassuming liquor store. He nodded at the owner - an old scarred man that never questioned Ryan’s business, but always seemed to know when he needed refuge. 

“The door is unlocked,” the old man said grimly, waving at an ancient-looking rug near a rack of dusty wine bottles.

“Thank you Burnie, as always,” Ryan said, padding across the store and moving the rug aside. The liquor store was very dimly lit, but the outline of a small trap door embedded in the ground was unmistakable. Ryan hooked a finger around the handle and swung the door upwards. Steep steps descended into a dark tunnel, and the faint rattle of a subway echoed out into the musty air. Ryan carefully climbed inside, giving Burnie a final nod before shutting the door quietly over his head. He slowly clambered down the steps, comforted by the light ruckus above. He heard the rug flop back into place and Burnie’s footsteps fade away. 

Many times Ryan had traveled these tunnels, and he walked through the darkness with confidence. 

Years ago, he had happened upon Los Santos’ old subway system one day during a very close call with the LSPD. He had been sprinting through the modern tunnels and ducked into a shadowed alcove. Police rushed past several minutes later. He had continued backing up, expecting a wall, but one never came. Soon, Ryan had found himself deep in the heart of the abandoned subway. A long walk through the dark leading to what he considered to be a successful evasion of the cops had eventually emptied him back into the modern subway system. From that day, Ryan had taken it upon himself to become very familiar with the Los Santos underground. Finding Burnie’s Liquor Store had also been accident, as it were. Ryan had obtained a difficult contract that week, but hadn’t really expected the contract to fight back. Bleeding and desperate for shelter, Ryan practically crawled through the front doors of the liquor store he had thought to be closed permanently. Burnie had found Ryan passed out behind the counter the next day and took him in without question. He had helped bandage Ryan’s wounds, given him food and water, and offered him a place to sleep. Ryan knew he would forever be in the older man’s debt. When Ryan had attempted to leave several days later, Burnie showed him the trapdoor, directing him from the abandoned tunnels to a pay-booth in the modern tunnels. It had ended up being a much shorter walk than his first discovery of the old subway.

Ryan shook himself back to the present. The tunnel was getting lighter, and soon, Ryan found himself at the ticket booth. He paid the machine and slipped through the gate. Ryan’s nerves spiked slightly. This was always the most dangerous part of his job. The actual payment was always more than Ryan’s contractors  _ really _ wanted to part with, and often they would send goons to swindle Ryan out of his full reward. The Vagabond slipped onto a waiting subway car, pleased that it was decently packed with early morning Los Santos commuters. He discreetly scanned the crowd for his target, and towards the end of the car, grasping a standing pole, Ryan spotted him. As they had arranged, the man was wearing a red hoodie with one sleeve rolled to the elbow. Tucked into his other arm was a brown package tied with twine. Pretending to look for a seat, Ryan waded through the crowd towards the hoodied man. As Ryan drew nearer, a gadget on the man’s wrist blinked. GPS. The man looked up, meeting Ryan’s icy gaze, and quickly looked back down. His eyes fixed on the dark smear of blood on Ryan’s jeans, and he nodded slightly. 

Ryan had forgotten about the stain on his pants, but figured public transportation in Los Santos had seen worse. He returned to his show of scanning the crowd for open seats and placed his hands in his pockets. As he passed the hoodied man, he extended his elbow. The man tucked the package under Ryan’s arm, and Ryan moved forward across the aisle. His heart beat fast and he was on high alert. Too many times he had been jumped after payment - but much to Ryan’s relief, the ride back into the city was decently quiet. 

***

Ryan stumbled into his apartment as his watch beeped 6 am, and he let out an incredible yawn. After storing his cash in a suitcase, Ryan took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and threw on a pair of clean boxer briefs. He drew the blackout curtains and flopped face first into bed. Exhaustion seeped into his bones. 

What a long night. A contract successfully and cleanly carried out, but of course only preceded by an impulsive decision he was sure to regret. He had really only fulfilled the contract to tune out the night’s earlier events at the penthouse.

Ryan rolled onto his back, groaning. He stared at the ceiling fan in the faint morning light and for the first time all day, allowed himself to really parse out his thoughts.

A position with the Fakes? Him? 

Ryan sighed. He couldn’t deny the excitement and energy he felt partaking in his first heist only yesterday. The group dynamic was definitely not something he was used to, but as much as Ryan hated to admit it, he kind of had... fun. He had probably been a little over-zealous with his aid of the crew in the early planning stages - but it had been such a long time since Ryan was contracted for something other than murder. He enjoyed playing mind games with his targets. The adrenaline from his success in getting one-on-one contact with the leader of one of The Fake’s rival gangs was addicting. Admittedly, Ryan wanted more. His few weeks of planning, observing, and collecting information for Geoff and the crew paid off immensely, as their money pool had almost doubled from the raid. The week of small-scale heists and successes all leading up to yesterday’s execution was almost euphoric. Ryan very much saw the appeal in joining a crew - but he was a creature of habit. 

His small apartment, his nightly contracts, his independent lifestyle, his ability to choose friends and enemies... If Ryan accepted Geoff’s offer, his whole world would be changed. Not that it mattered anymore - he had already said no.

Ryan groaned again, opening a drawer on his nightstand. The bottle of lube was only half full. He closed his eyes and flopped an arm over his forehead. Realizing how tense he was, Ryan moved a hand between his legs and forced his muscles to relax. Would The Fakes even want him after his dramatic and incredibly rude exit earlier? He palmed himself through his briefs, hoping to turn his nervous energy into something good.

Maybe he shouldn’t have entered the penthouse balcony like an assassin. A wave of embarrassment washed over Ryan. Why the hell did he think that was a good idea? Of course everyone would be on edge. He certainly hadn’t meant to officially meet the crew mask-off with 2 guns pointed at his chest, but what did he expect? 

Frowning Ryan shoved his head hard back into his pillow and pushed his hand more firmly into his crotch.

At least the crew seemed more or less at ease after he explained himself. He knew for sure Geoff trusted him, at least enough to invite him to a party at the penthouse - but had he ruined that trust today? None of the other crew members had really said a word to him that wasn’t coupled with guns and hostility - was he really that unapproachable? 

Feeling himself grow harder, Ryan squeezed a little lube onto his hand and slipped it under the waistband of his briefs. He sighed as he palmed his cock, spreading the lube across his shaft. The skin on skin contact was much needed.

Only the aggravating Brit had gone out of his way to talk to him earlier, and Ryan hardly considered it a friendly conversation. Why had Gavin come up to him in the first place?  _ Oh _ , right. Caught him trying to sneak out. 

Another twinge of embarrassment welled up in Ryan’s throat, and he gripped his cock as if to shut it out. He began stroking himself hard and slow.

He absolutely had not made a good second-first impression. Ryan mulled over his interaction with the Brit. It seemed that Gavin had been seeking a reaction from Ryan, and Ryan had definitely delivered. But why make the effort of conversation just to chastise him for something he hadn’t even known about? Ryan grit his teeth, remembering how frustratingly nonchalant Gavin had been. Messing with his nails and telling Ryan he was the rude one.

Ryan’s cock twitched as he stroked a little faster. Precum beaded at his head, and he moved a thumb across the slit. His hips bucked gently at the sensitive touch.

Gavin was dressed so tidily, his actions so flippant - it infuriated Ryan more than it really should have. The Brit leaning against the wall so casually, telling Ryan it was a bad idea he joined the crew - Ryan grimaced. He hadn’t even known Geoff’s intentions with inviting him to the party yet, and Gavin absolutely reveled in being the messenger. Irritation welled in Ryan’s chest. Gavin had no right to treat him with such diminishing disrespect - all he had done was help the crew succeed in a large-scale mission.

Ryan moaned softly - a bizarre mix of aggravation and arousal worked its way into his gut. He circled his thumb across the head of his cock and threw one leg over the edge of the bed. The new angle let him move his hips freely. His hand worked up and down his cock, twisting slightly at the head, and his breaths came faster.

Why didn’t he deserve a chance in Gavin’s mind? Perhaps it was jealousy, Ryan reasoned. He had done so much for this past heist, and what had Gavin done? Jam the Rooks’ servers with porn? Impressive, but lacking in volume. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Ryan felt himself longing for another chance to prove himself to the crew.

His hips bucked again, and Ryan gave up on having sensible thoughts; they would always be there tomorrow. He stroked his cock faster still, and his free hand curled into a fist. Ryan arched into his own touch. His dark hair stuck to the back of his neck as he moved. His breathing was ragged now, and a spark of heat replaced the anxiety in his stomach. He worked his hand up and down, hips bucking slightly every other stroke. His cock leaked precum, and Ryan screwed his eyes shut. He bit his lip, falling into an aggressive rhythm - up, twist, down, up, down, up, twist, down.... The warmth spread through his body. He worked his hand over his painfully hard shaft and over the head - wishing a pair of wet, hot lips were moving down on him instead. In his mind’s eye, Ryan saw Gavin’s intense green eyes boring into his of icy blue. For a brief moment during their confrontation, it had seemed like Gavin was looking directly through Ryan - rooting though all his flaws and mistakes with just a look. Ryan desperately tried to force the image out of his head - growing more agitated as it burned a hole into his mind. His cock pulsed and his hand worked fast. His breath stuttered as his hips bucked high off the bed, and Ryan moaned raggedly, coming across his hand and stomach. Behind his eyelids, he saw flashes of green and gold. He stroked himself through the orgasm, reveling briefly in the sensitive pain before it was simply too much. His hand flopped limply to his side, and blood pounded through his ears. Vaguely, Ryan wished he could have thought of something better than those smarmy green eyes while getting himself off, but he was too blissed to pay it much more thought. Ryan lay still for a few minutes, and eventually forced himself out of bed before sleep claimed him and his sticky body. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror as he cleaned his cock and torso. Staring back at him was a dangerous man who only knew a life of solitude - a life of independence. A man who did  _ not  _ adapt to change. 

But the longer Ryan stared, the clearer it became that something new had settled across his face - something Ryan couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

He headed back to bed feeling incredibly spent. He slipped under the covers and checked his watch. 

6:57 am.

Ryan closed his eyes, anticipating a very long sleep, but before he could drift off, a soft meow startled him. A soft weight jumped onto his lap, and Ryan smiled.

“Hey, Edgar.”

The small black and white cat purred in response and began kneading Ryan’s belly.

“What am I gonna to do, Edgar,” Ryan said groggily, scratching the cat’s soft head.

Edgar mewed softly, spun in a circle, and curled up on Ryan’s stomach.

“You’re right,” Ryan said, closing his eyes once more. His hand lingered on the cat’s rumbling belly. “I think my mind’s made up.”


	4. Breaking Bank, Building Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bank heist!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this chapter - though there's a lot of swearing and (non graphic) killing.  
> Wrote this chapter listening to the Payday 2 soundtrack on repeat. Click here if you're tryna vibe while reading [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54aygAZCKzw&t=)

Geoff stood at the head of the planning room in the upper level of the penthouse. Behind him sprawled a large map and an even bigger whiteboard. He regarded his crew scattered around the room, realizing only Jack was missing.

The planning room was rectangular and decorated sparingly: a few storage shelves to the right of the whiteboard and minimal furniture. The Fakes were scattered across three long couches - Jeremy stretched out on one, claiming it entirely for himself while Trevor and Alfredo shared one furthest from Geoff. Gavin sat perched on the back of a couch across from Jeremy, and his feet dangled on either side of Michael’s shoulders. 

“WHAT ARE WE DOING, GEOFF,” Jack hollered, entering the planning room suddenly. Several ‘Ayyyyy’s greeted her.

“Nice of you to join us,” Michael laughed. He leaned back contentedly between Gavin’s legs and patted an empty spot to his left. Jack took the seat, nodding her thanks. 

Finally settled, the crew stared at Geoff expectantly. 

At the front of the room, Geoff pushed a button on a small remote. Several ceiling lights illuminated the massive map of Los Santos. He crossed his tattooed arms. “Even though we’ve been through this routine a million times, all you shits are gonna listen up.” Geoff pretended not to notice Trevor sticking his fingers in his ears as he continued. “Gavin had an idea for something small, but we need it to go _well_.”

“Gav’s got something small, that’s for sure,” Jeremy said, grinning.

“All _right_ ,” Gavin protested, slapping his hands down onto Michael’s shoulders. 

Trevor threw a ball of paper at Jeremy in Gavin’s defense, and Jeremy, looking quite proud of himself, swatted away the assault. 

Geoff cleared his throat, trying to hide his grin. “I know it's only been a week since the Rooks heist, but I think with this opportunity, we need to act fast.” Geoff jerked a thumb at Gavin. “I’ll let the Brit do the talking.” He strode to Jeremy’s couch, swatting at the outstretched legs so he could sit.

Gavin hopped off the back of his perch, accidentally bumping the back of Michael’s head with his pelvis. After an awkward stumble off the cushions, Gavin took his place at the head of the room. Alfredo gave a wolf whistle and Gavin grinned, bowing cheekily. 

“Right,” Gavin began. “So this ain’t anything big. It’s pretty simple, actually.” He clapped twice and held his hands open towards Geoff, braced to catch. Geoff tossed him the remote, and Gavin continued. “A little way outside the city, a bank recently cropped up. It’s a chain, but the building’s relatively new.” Gavin pushed a button on the remote and a red laser shined onto the map. “Just there,” Gavin said, circling a swatch of seemingly undeveloped land. 

“So how are we getting there?” Trevor asked from across the room, eyebrows arched.

Gavin pointed the laser directly between Trevor’s eyes with a smirk. “That comes later - I’ve more to say.” 

Alfredo turned towards Trevor with his hands clasped into a mock-gun. He made a little ‘pew’ noise at the dot, and Trevor mimed a dramatic death.

Gavin clicked the laser off. Bouncing slightly, he began explaining his findings over the past week. “So, we’ve got a new bank, right? Which, in our knowledge means baseline security - I had a hunch. Hacked into their cams in under twenty thinking I’d need forty. I mean, baseline security. Watched the cams for a bit, got a gauge of traffic and the after-hours scene. A few guards at night, a few more during the day - nothing we can’t handle. I’m assuming a vault’s underground - but my view from the cameras was limited to a few corners only.”

“Wait,” Michael said, scratching his chest, “Does that mean they have no security footage of the vault? What the fuck kinda morons-”

“Exactly what I’m thinking,” Gavin said. He spread his hands. “Bloody idiots not to - so I figured something else was afoot.”

“Like infrareds,” Geoff concluded. 

Gavin nodded, walking to one of the shelves to his right. He grabbed his tablet and pulled up several grainy pictures. “There is, from what I can tell, just one camera facing some basement steps.” He flipped his tablet towards the crew. “These pictures here... were ‘capped from raw footage. I ran a few minutes of the step-cam’s video through several filters,” Gavin swiped across the tablet a few times, “And there we have it.” The screen displayed several tiny, fuzzy white lines surrounded by grainy blackness.

“So we do a little acrobatics,” Jeremy reasoned. “Toe the line, tiptoe through the tulips and crack the vault.”

Gavin frowned. “The sensors are too close together. A hair out of line and those alarms alert the entire LSPD. No one, especially not Rimmy Tim, is gonna fit through those gaps.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Then what, shut ‘em down?”

Gavin grinned, growing more excited. “Shut ‘em down. I’ll be able to disable the cameras prior, and then comes what I’ve really been working on for the past week.” Gavin produced a slim metal chip from his pocket. “The _Disease_.”

“I’ll bite,” Jack said, leaning forward. “What’s it do?”

“Right, so we’re gonna need access to the bank’s main network - meaning we have to use their computers to disable the infrareds, yeah? And whatever else, if there is anything else.” Gavin spun the piece of metal in his hand. “You can all thank me later, but I loaded a good deal of general malware onto this drive - automated, ‘course. I’m thinking if I can plug this into the central system, this will do some pretty hefty scans, saving us all time. I read those scans, access the system codes, maybe steal a little personal data while I’m at it, and bip bam heist time.” 

The Fakes looked giddy - everyone loved a good plan, no matter how simple. 

“You’re gonna need a distraction,” Michael said, cracking his knuckles. Alfredo pointed at Michael in agreement.

Gavin bobbed his head in response. “That, Boi, is where ‘Fredy-doo and you come in. If we do this is broad daylight, no walls get fucked, no doors get ruined - lots of good stuff - but that means bystanders getting roped into this nasty biz. So,” Gavin pointed at Michael and Alfredo, “Crowd control. No one leaves, no one calls the cops.” 

The intimidation team fist-bumped the air between their couches.

“Jack,” Gavin started, pointing at the redhead.

“Sir!”

“Queen of silent operations, you’ve gotta off the guards at the security display - or at least get ‘em out of the way. I’ll be with you.” 

Jack threw a double thumbs up at Gavin and flourished her hands into a karate pose.

“And what about the vault?” Trevor wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “Wired or mechanical?”

“Mechanical, from what I can tell.” Gavin scrolled through his tablet, frowning slightly. “Didn’t pick up any other signals coming from the basement, that’s for sure. Your basic nuts and bolts.”

Jeremy pumped an excited fist into the air, but Gavin stopped him short. “This is not a heist we’re gonna want to blast through, J. We want to make this clean. As nondescript as a robbery can be.”

Jeremy faltered, upset large explosives weren’t part of the plan.

“Pocket charges are more than welcome,” Gavin reassured him. “Trevor will need them to pop the bolts anyway.” Gavin addressed the dark haired man. “So Trevor, this all going topside rides on those fine lock-picking skills.”

“No pressure or anything,” Trevor scoffed, still unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Gavin grimaced. “Most vaults don’t use mechanical-only anymore, so this one’s out of the ordinary. I know it’s a lot, Trev, but Jeremy will be there to help.” 

Gavin breathed deeply and regarded the crew. He vibrated with energy. “So here’s the rundown: quick in, quicker out - a simple robbery with casualties avoided at all costs. We pull up in a ‘Benz-Sprinter. It’s 10 minutes till close. Masks on. I give the cameras a quick prox hack from the van - giving us... 25 minutes of cover, tops. Geoff’s our watchdog and first line of defense - he’ll be tracking outside activity and scoping out cops. The rest of us go in blazing. Michael and ‘Fredy wrangle tellers and bystanders with temp backup from lil J and Trev, and Jack and I sneak into the back to take care of the guards. Jack keeps them occupied while I bypass the vault sensors from the main computer - and then at my word, Trev and Lil J head downstairs for a few minutes of cheeky vault cracking. J and Trev bust the vault, Jack and I come down to help make the grabs. Stuff it all in the car, and Michael drives us away. Heist successful.” Gavin spread his hands and licked his lips. It’s not often Geoff gave anyone else full control of heists, but damn did Gavin feel good. “Who’s in?”

Six fists breached the air, followed by enthusiastic yelling.

“Top,” Gavin breathed, crossing his arms. “Then let’s play.”

***

The Fake AH Crew was, for once, quiet. The notion of achievement for little effort invigorated a tense, excited energy within the van. A successful heist relied on thorough planning and sound execution, but a _truly_ polished mission required clear and concentrated minds. The Fakes all had their own roles to play in the robbery and each member had different methods for assuming them. 

Michael drove the crew down the dusty road. As he nodded his head to quiet synthwave on the radio, he formulated an intimidating script for crowd control. 

Geoff rode shotgun with his feet kicked up on the dash. He was fixated on the environment rushing by, drinking in every detail. 

Gavin sat behind Michael, leaning his head against the window. He absently fingered the slim metal chip in his hand and mouthed his responsibilities to himself on repeat.

Trevor sat to Gavin’s right with his eyes closed, fingers moving in meditated patterns picking imaginary locks. Jack, to Trevor’s right, counted bullets over and over in her lap.

Alfredo and Jeremy took up the rear seat. Jeremy shadow-boxed to heavy metal blasting through his headphones and Alfredo leveled a sizable rod at a window, practicing gun stabilization as the van rattled over potholes.

Each member of the crew wore dark clothing concealing bullet-proof vests and belts adorned with various straps and weapons. They all wore discreet custom earpieces for effective communication, and their chosen masks - fitted burlap sacks with crude facial stitching - sat by their sides.

“About 5 minutes, gang,” Michael said, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. 

Alfredo thumped Jeremy in the chest and held up his hand to relay Michael’s message. Jeremy locked eyes with Alfredo and nodded, still bouncing to his ultra-loud music.

“Let’s keep this clean, boys - and Jack,” Geoff cautioned from the front of the car. He settled his legs on the floor and sat up straight. 

The tension in the van was palpable as the bank came into view. 

Michael pulled into a patch of grass just to the side of the bank, and the crew sprang into action. 

Gavin whipped out his tablet and immediately began working on the security cameras. Jeremy took his headphones off, diving into the back of the van with Alfredo to help pass out the bigger guns. Michael turned off the ignition and yanked his burlap mask on, followed quickly by everyone but Gavin. As the fakes prepared, The hacker’s fingers flew across his screen. His eyes raked over lines of code and he bit his lip. 

Legs bounced and knuckles cracked as anticipation soared. All eyes were on Gavin. 

Gavin began counting down. “Ten,” he started, zooming in on a jumbled section of numbers and letters. “Nine... Eight.” He highlighted a new area, adding a few commands. “Seven.”

Michael unlocked the van’s doors. Trevor slipped Gavin’s mask over his head.

“Six... Five”

The crew near the doors grabbed the handles, and Gavin typed furiously at the screen.

“Four. Three. Two...” Gavin breathed, watching a buffer wheel intently. “One,” he said, holding up a shaking hand. The tablet lit up green. “Go, go, go!” 

All four doors flew open, and the heist was on.

Michael and Geoff lead the way, cocking their guns and sprinting towards the bank’s doors. Trevor and Jack followed close behind, with Alfredo, Jeremy and Gavin bringing up the rear. 

“GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND,” Michael screamed, bursting through the bank’s doors. He fired three shots into the ceiling as the remainder of the crew stormed inside. Every bystander inside the bank ducked, looking around wildly. Gavin and Jack immediately sprinted to the back of the bank, barging through the back room’s door. Geoff lingered in the doorway, gun primed at the panicked patrons. Michael and Alfredo split off to the left side of the bank and screamed at three tellers, while Jeremy and Trevor cornered a few terrified looking bystanders off to the right. 

“Don’t you fucking _think_ about using that phone,” Jeremy snarled at a beefy looking bystander. His mask hid his expression, but his voice made the man blanch. Jeremy leveled his gun at the man’s head. “Drop it, or I’ll redecorate these walls with your fucking gray matter.” 

The man hesitated, staring pleadingly at Jeremy, but Trevor shot the ground at the man’s feet. Pale as a ghost, the man placed his phone on the floor and slowly raised his hands.

A scream rang from the other side of the bank - Alfredo had a female teller pinned against the counter with a gun to her head. “You do exactly what we say and no one gets hurt,” he growled in the woman’s ear. She choked out a sob in response. 

“I said get on your fucking knees!” Michael yelled at an elderly male teller. The man looked weary as he slowly sank to the ground, and Michael cocked his gun again, making the other two tellers flinch. “Hands in the air, all three of you!” 

Alfredo shoved the female teller to the ground, and she quickly raised her hands in surrender. Her eyes were full of tears.

The elderly teller lifted his hands slowly, glaring at Michael. His chest heaved as he spoke. “You criminals are all the same...” 

Michael growled a warning but the man continued, staring defiantly at Michael as if he could see straight through the mask. 

“Does this satisfy you? Does this life of greed bring you anything but more pain and suffering?” 

Michael drew himself right up into the man’s face. “Shut the fuck up. Do I make myself clear?” He backed away, fuming. “Against the wall!” Michael shouted at all three bankers, flattening his back against Alfredo’s. “Hands flat above your head!” 

None of the tellers moved a muscle.

“Did you fucking hear me?” Michael rattled several bullets near the furthest teller, a middle-aged man with red hair. “Get on the fucking wall before I fill you with so many holes they’ll call you Swiss fucking Cheese!” 

The tellers scrambled into position on the wall behind the counter, just as several muffled gunshots echoed from the back room of the bank. 

Across the bank, Trevor and Jeremy were making quick progress.

“You heard the guy over there,” Trevor said to the cowering bystanders. He glanced around the room and saw Alfredo and Michael stalking behind the three bankers, poking them occasionally with their guns. Trevor angrily turned back to his audience. “All of you, face the wall, hands up.” 

“Fucking _MOVE_ ,” Jeremy shouted in agreement, grabbing a scrawny man by the arm. He dragged the man to the nearest wall and threw him to the ground. The other few patrons moved awkwardly on their knees towards the scrawny man, guided by Trevor’s panning gun.

Jeremy heard commotion from the back of the bank, and in his earpiece, Gavin’s voice suddenly rang out.

_“Guards grazed Jack’s shoulder, but they’re both unconscious now. Jack’s not bleeding too bad - I’m working on the infrareds.”_

“ _I’ve had worse,_ ” Came Jack’s voice. She sounded a little strained. “ _Jeremy, Trevor, keep an ear out for Gavin’s word._ ” 

“ _Innocents are taken care of,_ ” Jeremy said, pushing a button on his earpiece. He glared at the patrons against the wall. “ _Let’s get this show on the road._ ”

Satisfied with the situation inside the bank, Geoff nodded to himself and stepped outside. He quickly scanned the scene, and after deeming it safe, found cover behind the outdoor ATM. “ _Outside is clear, for now,_ ” he said into the earpiece. 

“ _One of the guards pulled a silent alarm,_ ” Gavin’s voice crackled back, the frantic tap of keys audible in the background. “ _Must ‘a been right when the cams went down. Dunno our time window now..._ ” 

This was not good news. Geoff frowned at the horizon. The perimeter was still mostly empty. “ _Just stick to the plan_ ,” he grumbled into the intercom. “ _The alarm won’t do too much damage alone, but we can’t risk tripping the vault sensors too._ ”

Inside the back room, Gavin was sweating. His fingers flew across the keyboard as his programmed microchip scanned deep into the computer. He had yet to locate the vault’s main network of code, and he was growing anxious. He glanced over at Jack. She had ripped up her black jacket and tied it crudely around her wounded shoulder. The two security guards lay unconscious in a heap in front of her, arms and legs bound with duct tape. Gavin grimaced and faced the screen once more. He heard Michael and Alfredo scream at the bankers, and a wave of energy seized through him. 

This was the shit they all lived for. 

Adrenaline pumped through Gavin’s veins and he attacked his project with new enthusiasm. He pulled up his tablet with one hand, deciding to trace the downed camera’s network back in time. The previously active signals _had_ to have come from the same network that maintained the infrared’s activity. Biting his lip, Gavin typed a few commands across the bank’s keyboard. To his delight, a new screen popped up on the computer. Gavin’s stomach flipped - he was grateful for a little bit of progress. The microchip blinked furiously in it’s outlet, and several more screens popped up across the computer. Finally, a section of code with a series of “trues” and “falses” illuminated the computer’s screen. _Almost there,_ Gavin thought. He flipped a few network values on the computer, allowed a few more seconds of scanning from his microchip, and finally, an override command popped up. The microchip filled out the command letter by letter, and as it concluded, Gavin slammed enter. His hands shook, and a pit sat heavy in his stomach. _Goddamn silent alarm..._

A loud pop of static rang out, followed by a dwindling whine. 

Heart thumping, Gavin pressed his earpiece. “ _Trev and J, you’re all clear._ ” 

In the main room, Michael turned to Alfredo, gesturing at the tellers with his gun. “You’ve got this side?” 

Alfredo nodded, and Michael ran to the other side of the bank. Slipping between Jeremy and Trevor, he leveled his gun at the bystanders. “Get going, you two, I’ve got ‘em.” Michael jerked his head towards the steps at the far side of the bank. 

The vault crew nodded briefly before heading off, and as they made their way down the stairs, Jeremy heard Michael growl, “Move another fucking inch and you’ll find out what the back of your head looks like as a Rorschach test!” 

The vault was, as Gavin had predicted, at the bottom of the staircase. Very little light reached the large circular door, and both Jeremy and Trevor squinted into the gloom. 

“Damn mechanical... Hacking is so much quicker,” Trevor muttered, pressing his ear against the middle of the vault. He knocked on several spots, listening intently. He found a satisfactory spot just above the vault handle, and let out a long breath. “Drill me, Jeremy,” Trevor said, holding out his hand. 

Jeremy smirked, handing Trevor a thin, long drill from his belt. “Not now, Mr. Collins, I’ve got work to do.”

Trevor rolled his eyes as he positioned the drill. Was that a siren he just heard? Shaking his doubts, he flipped a switch on the tool. A white-hot flame roared to life at the furiously spinning tip, and the drill, aided by the flame, sank easily into the metal of the vault door. After reaching about a foot deep, Trevor removed the drill. Jeremy fed a long pocket-charge through the newly formed hole, and Trevor ignited the end with the drill’s flame tip. The pair took a few steps back, covering their ears. This wasn’t their first rodeo.

A piercing pop of metal rang through the basement, and Trevor quickly inserted a new device. It had an eyepiece, several knobs near the top, and three tiny prongs at the end. Trevor peered through the eyepiece, rotating the knobs with one hand. His other hand was pressed flat against the vault, sensitive fingers seeking small vibrations.

Jeremy prepared another pocket-charge as Geoff’s voice crackled through his earpiece.

“ _Uhh... guys._ ”

Jeremy’s stomach flipped. That could only mean one thing.

“ _Cops on the horizon_ ,” came Geoff’s warning, confirming Jeremy’s fears.

Trevor nodded grimly in the dim light, speeding up his work. There was a hefty click from within the vault, and Trevor pulled away. Jeremy, shaking with adrenaline, inserted another pocket charge. 

The pop was much louder this time.

“ _Status down there?_ ” Gavin’s voice was steely across the intercom.

“ _Please say good..._ ” Came Geoff’s reply.

Working quickly, Jeremy unsheathed a thin but sturdy piece of steel, wedging it between the vault door and the frame. They didn’t have enough time to answer. His heart beat fast, and he threw his body weight against the metal. Trevor fed a long device with a shallow curve through the initial hole, angling the curve toward the new space Jeremy had forced open. Trevor fumbled with the device for a minute. Finally, a sickening scrape of metal and dull thud rang through the vault. 

“ _All hands on deck,_ ” Jeremy said, releasing the button on the earpiece. 

Trevor yanked the large door open in triumph.

Gavin and Jack thundered down the steps, duffel bags slung across their shoulders. Gavin tossed a spare bag at Jeremy, and Jack shoved another in Trevor’s hands. The four Fakes barged into the safe, grabbing at anything they could find in the gloomy light.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” Gavin said, stuffing stack after stack of bills into his bag.

“No shit,” Jeremy retorted. 

Jack was in more pain then she really wanted to let on, and by the time everyone’s bags were full, she had barely managed half.

“ _I need backup, NOW_ ” Geoff crackled over the intercom again. Sirens wailed in the background of the transmission.

Gavin’s stomach dropped, and the four criminals raced up the stairs. 

Michael and Alfredo had joined at the center of the room, swapping their aim between the innocents and the front doors. Several police cars screeched into the bank’s parking lot, and Gavin, Jack, Trevor and Jeremy made a mad dash for the exit.

“Get to the fucking van!” Jack shouted, and the six of them careened outside. 

Gunshots started immediately, and the crew quickly scattered around the bank’s entrance for cover. 

“You got another plan, Jack?” Michael screamed, ducking behind the ATM. Bullets peppered the wall just above his head. Michael knew if any of them left their cover, there was no way they would make it to the van alive. Michael was more than happy to make use of his machine gun though, and he wasted several cops before they could even reach the parking lot.

The cars kept coming, one after another, screeching to a halt between the Crew and their getaway vehicle.

Gavin and Jeremy crouched behind a brick pillar taking quick shots at police as they jumped out of their cars.

“There’s so bloody many...” Gavin whispered to Jeremy, landing a bullet in a cop’s gut. Jeremy grit his teeth in agreement, busting the tires of an approaching car.

The sirens blared, accompanied by shouts from the LSPD.

Alfredo and Trevor landed several head shots from behind the vending machine, and bullets littered the glass in retaliation.

“We can hold them off for a little bit,” Geoff yelled over the commotion, poking his gun around the side of the ATM, “But we’re only as good as our bullet supply!” He shot at a car approaching from the back of the bank.

“What if we stop shooting?” Jack hollered back. She sat crouched behind a trash can near the vending machine. “If they don’t want murder on their hands, they’ll stop too!” A bullet pinged off the rim of the can, and Jack lit up the culprit. 

Gavin’s gut was in knots. He closed his eyes, listening to the screams, the gunfire, the sirens... He felt responsible for this shootout; he had severely underestimated the police presence this new bank could muster. Blood pounded in his ears “Jack’s right,” Gavin growled. His eyes flew open in time to double team a cop with Jeremy. “We can fake surrender, and when they stop, we light them up again!” He and Jeremy flattened themselves against the pillar as a stream of bullets ate away chunks of the brick. “Then make a mad dash for the van!”

Michael littered the back of a distant cop car with bullets and it exploded. He nudged Geoff, tilting his masked head. 

Geoff grimaced. “Hold fire!”

The Fake AH Crew drew themselves in behind their cover, guns primed but silent. Everyone was breathing hard.

As expected, the opposing bullets dwindled quickly, and shouting ensued.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS,” came a voice magnified by loudspeaker. “COME FORWARD WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD.”

Trevor and Alfredo scoffed at that statement, high on adrenaline.

“ _On my mark_ ,” Geoff said into the intercom to avoid being overheard.

“DROP YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS-”

“ _Get set_ ,”

The crew tensed, ready to spring to action. The van was behind several police cars, and it truly would be a rush for their lives.

“COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP AND NO ONE GETS-”

A screech of car tires and a dull thud ended the sentence. The Fakes looked at each other from behind their cover, shrugging. A ridiculous amount of gunshots ensued. The grumble of an engine drew very close, accompanied by bullets pinging off metal. 

The sound of a sliding door being opened preceded a familiar voice. “Well? Get the fuck in.”

Several shouts and police gunshots rang out, and the crew knew this was their only opportunity for escape.

All at once, the Fakes erupted from their cover, sprinting for the new vehicle. Incentivized by the heightened sound of gunfire, they sent a few more shots the police’s way, and piled into the car as fast as they could. The driver floored the new armored van, blasting through a line of cops, and took a turn out of the parking lot a little too fast. The van tipped dangerously on two wheels, and the driver swore.

“Jesus Christ!” Michael yelled in response, whipping off his mask. He crawled into the front passenger seat, glaring at the driver. He faltered quickly, realizing who had saved them.

The rest of the crew clambered across the back seats, pulling their own masks off as Michael’s voice called from the front.

“Guys, it’s fucking _Ryan_.” 

The Fakes froze in surprise.

Smiling a little, The Vagabond jerked the wheel around another corner. Several cops were hot on their tail. “I was in the area,” Ryan said casually, swerving around a police-attempted pit-maneuver.

The van slammed through a wooden fence off the road, and Michael threw his hands up in exasperation. “Let me drive, asshole.”

Ryan nodded, setting cruise control. He pulled a pistol from his waistband, jamming it through the lower gap of the wheel into an open space for wheel height adjustment. Effectively locking the steering, Ryan motioned for Michael to cross over. The van wasn’t very spacious, but in the heat of the chase, they made it work.

Michael clambered across the front seats, holding himself tight to the steering wheel to allow Ryan an exit, and Ryan crawled over into the passenger seat. Michael ripped the pistol from the steering wheel and jerked the van off the road, deciding to take a longer route back to the city. They absolutely _had_ to lose the cops.

“I suppose some thanks are in order,” Geoff called to the front of the van, still confused at the whole situation.

Ryan waved his hand dismissively. “Nah.” He paused for a minute, thinking about his next words carefully. “Besides, this is what a crew is for, right?” 

Michael threw a look into the rear-view mirror, confusion plastered across his face. He met eye contact with Geoff, who just shrugged.

“Oh,” Ryan continued, turning in the passenger seat to face the rest of the Fakes. “Yeah. I accept.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Zilbea here. Let me know how you're liking (or not liking) the story so far! I'm having a great time writing this, but I would absolutely appreciate constructive criticism and/or feedback! Any little bit helps.  
> Also, I ~promise~ this will be a freewood story, I just really wanted a good intro of crew antics and dynamics. Ryan has only just joined the Fakes; there's a lot more to explore now ;)  
> Thank you for reading!


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